


You need it again already?

by thegirlnamedcove



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Based on a Tumblr Post, Bottom Derek Hale, Casual Sex, Developing Relationship, Feelings, Human AU, M/M, Meddling, Mild Angst, Porn with Feelings, Sex, Top Stiles Stilinski, seriously the angst is so short lived, the sex occurs in the middle and then doesn't reoccur
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-13
Updated: 2018-08-13
Packaged: 2019-06-26 16:58:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15667416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegirlnamedcove/pseuds/thegirlnamedcove
Summary: Okay, so it was the kind of idea he would’ve vetoed had he not been three shots into their night on cheap tequila. It was still a plan, and one that he hoped Stiles’ dick would thank him for.“What if I hook you up with a friend of mine? He’s a dude, but like, women aren’t seeming to do it for you and I guarantee he knows what he’s doing.”Stiles frowned. “I’m not into dudes.”





	You need it again already?

**Author's Note:**

> I can't find the post anymore, but this was based off a tumblr post about a woman whose friend had never orgasmed with a partner, and she hooked her up with a lesbian friend of hers and it turned out homegirl was hecka gay and had no trouble finishing as long as there was no dick involved. The text conversation is especially based on that post, although the genders have obviously been swapped in order to make it work with sterek.
> 
> Use of alcohol in this is incredibly inconsistent. Do they get drunk off of three shots or eight glasses of wine? Who knows? Certainly not me, the 26 year old grown ass woman who has experience drinking.

“Wait, what do you mean you’ve never finished?”

Stiles rolled his eyes, a facsimile of nonchalance, but the tight way he was holding his shoulders and gripping the neck of the beer bottle in his hands showed otherwise.

“Never finished _with a partner_ ,” he said, “There’s a difference. And anyway I’m sure tons of guys have that problem, that’s why all those sleazy ads are played at three in the morning for herbal supplements. I just...get nervous.”

“Nervous?” Isaac frowned. He wanted to smirk, and maybe throw a joke around, lift the oppressive cloud of awkwardness and assumed judgement that had settled over their little table of three--Scott, Stiles, and him--but he just couldn't. Maybe he was wrong, maybe his intuition was off, but this sounded, to him, like a particularly frustrating time in his own life, dating women for the sake of his dad’s approval and his own insecurity.

“I dunno. I think too much. I get too distracted. It’s not...it never feels right, but it’s the same as every other time my adhd throws me off. It’s fine. I’ll figure it out.”

“Stiles, man, that doesn’t sound normal,” Scott said, although he quailed under the harsh glare Stiles levelled at him.

“I’m fine,” he snapped. He was slunk down in his chair by this point, most of the way to sulking, and Isaac got an idea.

Okay, so it was the kind of idea he would’ve vetoed had he not been three shots into their night on cheap tequila. It was still a plan, and one that he hoped Stiles’ dick would thank him for.

“What if I hook you up with a friend of mine? He’s a dude, but like, women aren’t seeming to do it for you and I guarantee he knows what he’s doing.”

Stiles frowned. “I’m not into dudes.”

“I know,” Isaac flapped a hand in his direction, “This is more about knowing your body. He’s had lots of experience with men and what makes men come--” Stiles blanched and Isaac rolled his eyes before rephrasing, “--makes men _finish_ than most of us here. He could help you find out what works for you and your body and you could walk away with a lot more data to use in the future.”

Stiles pulled his bottom lip into his mouth, pinned down with his front teeth. The silence was long enough to prove his interest, but he didn’t seem ready to give up the goat yet. Isaac shot a pleading look at Scott, who merely huffed a laugh under his breath and then nodded and leaned in.

“There’s nothing wrong with being open-minded, Stiles. Some women are even into that.”

Stiles’ eyes flickered up to meet Scott’s and then down to his lap. He was blushing now, full on, but that seemed to be the permission he needed, the thin veneer of heterosexual pretense that made it all okay, and he nodded at Isaac roughly.

“Okay. Set it up. You’ve got my number?”

“Yeah, man. I’ll see if he’s up for it. His name is Derek.”

 

***

 

Stiles sat on his couch, knees splayed wide and one leg jimmying up and down with nervous energy. This guy--Derek--would be here any minute and he could barely keep inside his own skin for how much he did and didn’t want that to happen. He didn’t know exactly how Isaac had talked him into it (although Isaac could talk him into most things after a Long Island Iced Tea had made its way into his system) but it was set now and he couldn’t have backed out even if he wanted to.

What was he talking about? Of course he wanted to back out. Didn’t he? Any red blooded straight dude would.

He watched the door instead, heart pounding in his ears.

Derek was set to show up at two o clock, and the clock had only barely ticked over when someone was pounding on his door like they were the LAPD. Stiles shot up from his spot on the couch and strode to the door in just a few steps, his face hot but his hand already at the handle and yanking the door open. The man outside leaned against the frame with one arm, a smile already on his face, and an impressive physique that made Stiles sweat behind the knees.

“Hey. Are you Stiles?”

He gulped but nodded, and then the man was in his space and wandering down the hallway towards the bedroom.

“You coming?” he called out, and that’s right, Stiles was still standing there with the door open like a moron. He hustled to close it and locked the deadbolt just in case, then scurried after Derek like there was a fire on his heels. When he got to his bedroom Derek was already shucking his track bottoms off, ass pale and round and right in Stiles’ line of vision.

“I, um...I don’t…”

“Yeah. Virgin, right?” Derek asked, although it didn’t feel like much of a question. “Isaac told me. I figure there’s no point in standing on principle about this. You’d like to fuck, I’d like to fuck, no need to make it any more complicated than that.”

“Right,” Stiles said, faintly, and then shook his head, “I mean...not right. I’m not a virgin. And I’m not...this isn’t a hookup.”

“Oh?” Derek turned to look over his shoulder as he crawled onto the bed. His back dipped down in the middle, creating a beautiful curve that put his shoulders and ass on display. If Stiles ducked his head to the side, just a little bit, he was sure he’d be able to see Derek’s hole with the way his legs were spread so wide and--he didn’t care. He did not care what that looked like.

“Should I put my pants back on then?”

It took a moment for Stiles to register the question.

“I...no. I just need to...Isaac said you knew a lot about men and their...I just want to finish but that’s not, I mean it’s not...this isn’t a pleasure cruise and--”

Derek cut him off, blessedly, and rolled his body down, so he was propped on his elbows instead of his hands and his ass presented up and out. It looked uncomfortable, how he was positioned. It looked so fucking hot.

“No pleasure, huh? So you’re more into pain? That’s what makes you _finish_?”

Stiles tried to answer. He really did. But all that came out of his throat was a pathetic whimper, and then he tore his eyes away to look at the floor.

“No. I like...I don’t know what I like. I thought you might know. What I like...or what...I don’t know.”

“Well then get on the bed with me,” there was a smile in Derek’s voice, “and we’ll figure out what you like together.”

Stiles obeyed.

 

***

 

His hand was in someone’s ass.

Okay, maybe not _someone_ , but he didn’t know Derek from Adam, not really, and even if he did he had no reason to know Derek’s ass.

But there he was, kneeling on his bedspread, three fingers sunk in to the knuckle, frozen up with anxiety while Derek rode his hips backwards chasing a pleasure that made Stiles jealous.

He spared a distant thought for how gross he would find the whole ass business when he was less turned on.

Derek sighed, so deep it must have come from his bones, and slowed the movement of his hips down to a grind. He wiped his face on his arm--he must be sweating, at least as much as Stiles is--and then twisted back to smile at Stiles, still heaving breaths in and out as he spoke.

“You ready? Or you want to play back there a little more?”

“No, I--” Stiles coughed, and willed his eyes to stay on Derek’s face and not stray too far towards the hand he had buried past his rim. “I think you should decide when there’s been enough stretching.”

“Well okay then,” Derek said, “Come up here.”

He indicated the headboard, and the pillows he’d been gripping for dear life up until then. Stiles clambered over--his legs feeling limp and ineffectual despite him not _doing_ much of anything so far, and sat down with his knees thrown wide. Derek crawled up into his lap, hands settling on the back and sides of Stiles neck, and sighed, his whole body going weightless.

“I love this part,” he said. His abs and chest rippled with the movement as he raised himself up, one hand straying behind him to steady Stiles’ cock at his entrance. And then his eyes dropped closed, and his head rolled back, and he was sinking down onto his cock, enveloping Sties in warm, tight pressure that he didn’t think he’d be able to survive.

When Derek pulled back, pulled up, Stiles whined high and tight despite his best efforts to stay silent. When he rolled his hips back down Stiles groaned and started to pant, his whole world narrowed down to just the feeling in his dick, Derek’s skin under his hands. Derek groaned, too, and picked up the pace, bouncing against Stiles’ thighs in a way that was sure to leave bruises. His cock bounced with him, smacking against Stiles’ pelvis, and Stiles watched it with rapt attention. He wanted to do...something. He wasn’t sure what that something was. Taste it maybe. Or just hold it. Neither was very feasible right now, with his hands clasped tight around Derek’s thighs and the constant movement making it hard to focus.

“Fuck, yes,” Derek whispered, and then he was shifting forward--still moving his hips in tight circles, up and forward and down and back--and into Stiles’ space. He kissed at his neck, mouth hot against Stiles’ skin, and a hand strayed to the nipple on the opposite side until he was playing with it, flicking back and forth and occasionally pulling it harshly like he intended to take it off. Stiles felt a sharp spike in arousal every time Derek yanked like that, but it didn’t distract from the whole. Didn’t make him forget about the slowly rising tide Derek was causing in him, about the orgasm he could feel building low in his gut.

“That’s it,” Derek said, “That’s a good little bitch.”

Stiles whimpered, and buried his nose in the crook of Derek’s neck.

“Yeah. You just sit there and let me work. Gonna make you feel so good you won’t be able to stand it. Gonna make you cum so hard, baby. You want that?”

He choked out a word that he hoped was yes. His hands scrabbled upwards toward’s Derek’s shoulders in a vain attempt to pull him closer and bury those hands in his gorgeous hair. Derek didn’t let him, though, just stood firm where he sat and kept up a steady rhythm.

One of Derek’s hands snuck around his back, down to where Stiles’ balls sat in between his legs, and he grabbed both of them in his palm and fingers. At the same time he squeezed Stiles’ balls and tugged sharply at one of his nipples, and that was it for Stiles. He sucked in air, and clenched up, crying out as he came like he was wounded, and then he slumped forward, against Derek’s chest, and melted into a useless, ineffectual puddle.

“Oh, yeah,” Derek gasped, “Oh, fuck yeah. So wet, oh my god, so wet.”

He ground down into Stiles’ crotch, chasing the last hardness of his dick before it faded away.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck. Oh my god, fuck me, yeah.” Derek cursed, and the rhythm of his hips stuttered for the first time all night. His body weight tipped forward, into Stiles and they both crashed back onto the pillows, feeling heavy and sated. After the fact, Stiles noticed the wetness now decorating his and Derek’s stomach, and the soft cock pinned between their hips.

Derek lifted his head up, after a moment, and caught Stiles’ eye. The smirk on his face was insufferable, but he didn’t say anything. Just took Stiles’ mouth in a kiss, too fierce and claiming for their current cumdrunk mood, but enjoyable all the same.

Half an hour later, freshly showered and with his clothes all firmly back on, Derek waved goodbye as he left.

An hour after that, Stiles had his hand down his pants, stroking off to the memory of Derek’s hard stomach under his hands, and the velvet feeling of his hole. The fat and muscle and bounce of his ass.

A prickle of shame wound its way around his thoughts, constricting and unavoidable.

 

***

 

He couldn’t stop thinking about it. No, really, he actually couldn’t.

He had ADHD, okay, and while he might ham it up in the company of others, he knew the parameters of it. He knew when he was spiraling, or hyperfocusing. He knew how to use mindfulness meditation and how to make it ease up. He knew what it felt like when his meds needed to be adjusted.

This was nothing like that.

Derek was just there, in his mind but not overtaking it, running along the background of every interaction he had for two straight weeks before he did anything about it. It wasn’t just that he seemed to know all the little tricks to get Stiles’ to climax--although he absolutely did. Or that he was hot like burning--which he absolutely was. It was something about him; about the hair and the musculature and the power in all of his movements. It was about the way he could pin Stiles’ to the bed and fuck him until he was satisfied. It was about the way Stiles wanted to pin him to the bed and take him into his mouth. He’d never wanted that before, not with anyone, and he wondered if it was just some side effect of being with someone that talented at sex.

He finally broke on a Friday night, with six glasses of wine in him and a half-baked plan forming out of the ether.

 

 **Stiles:** Hey man

 **Stiles:** How r u?

 

It took a moment for a reply to come, but when it did Stiles’ jaw dropped open.

 

 **Derek:** You need it again already?

 

Rude. So rude. Stiles couldn’t even… Whatever, it’s not like it mattered. It was just so presumptuous and Derek shouldn’t…

He switched over to a text message to Scott.

 

 **Stiles:** OMG so I messaged hot guy

 **Stiles:** And like, are all gay guys pretentious? Is it a requirement?

 

 **Scott:** …

 **Scott:** Bisexual, Stiles. For the last time, I’m not gay. I’m bisexual.

 

 **Stiles:** No, I know.

 **Stiles:** Just

 **Stiles:** You know gay guys

 **Stiles:** In ur life

 **Stiles:** And I want to know if they all think the sun shines out of their dick.

 

 **Scott:** Idk, man.

 

Stiles huffed, and scrubbed a hand across his face. He was getting the distinct feeling he’d be apologizing for something tomorrow. He took a long pull from his glass and switched back to the conversation with Derek.

 

 **Stiles:** First of all, yes I do

 **Stiles:** But second of all, none of your business?

 **Stiles:** Ur not the mother theresa of sex, ok? I am not sitting here pining for u.

 

A long silence passed, long enough that Stiles got lost in trying to count the ceiling tiles, and had to restart twice, before his phone finally pinged with a response.

 

 **Derek:** I’ll be there in 10.

 

***

 

Sex with Derek was a revelation.

Not only because he seemed hellbent on Stiles’s pleasure--one time he’d spent over an hour playing with his rim, just to taunt him and pull away whenever it was getting somewhere--but because sex with Derek was a puzzle. One that Stiles couldn’t quite fit together.

Because he liked women, okay? He _did_. He could appreciate the way they looked, and the way they acted. The whole curvy, soft aesthetic. He could spend an hour looking through photoshoots of well known models, just admiring the gentle dips and valleys of their hips and breasts.

But it never made him hard. Not unless he was watching porn, and even then not unless there was a guy present. He’d assumed he just wasn’t one for softcore stuff but post-Derek he had done some experimenting. He found that he trended toward strong men with broad shoulders and rough touches, and women with slim hips and athletic builds, but ultimately no matter what else was going on in a video, if he couldn’t see dick...well, maybe it was a sign, was all he was saying. One he should’ve heeded a while ago.

He didn’t know what it meant, that feeling, but he knew that he had to deal with it eventually. Isaac was getting insufferable.

“We’re having a few people over for dinner next weekend. Kind of a couples thing, you know. Would you be interested in coming?”

The way he waggled his eyebrows wasn’t subtle, not even a little bit, and Stiles bit back a groan. They were hunkered down in Scott’s mom’s backyard, waiting for him to come back from paying the pizza guy at the front of the house, and Stiles suspected that he wouldn’t turn up until after this orchestrated conversation had taken place.

“No, Isaac, I don’t want to be the token third wheel at your dinner party.”

“No, I know, I just though if there was somebody who--”

“I don’t have a girlfriend right now. You know that.”

Isaac chuckled, and turned to look back out into the yard.

“Funny, you know, that I asked Derek and he said the same thing. That’s he’s not seeing anyone.”

Stiles frowned.

“Okaaaay?”

“And I was thinking, if you both came, you could entertain each other, you know. Since you’re already spending so much time together.”

“Alright!” Stiles pushed to his feet, and made for the sliding door. “Good talk.”

He knew what those conversations were getting at. He wasn’t an idiot. But for all that he didn’t know where his journey of self discovery with Derek was headed, his friends didn’t either. The man showed up at his door whenever one of them texted the other, fucked Stiles to within an inch of his life, and then left. The longest conversation they’d ever had had been when Stiles offered him weed after one session and he’d ended up staying a few hours, arguing idly with Stiles about the Star Wars universe. There was nothing there that resembled real interest even if...even if he was in a place to offer interest back.

Which was a shame, because Derek was a revelation, and not just because he was great at sex, but because he was witty and fun and had a wealth of pop culture knowledge Stiles envied and a huge family he occasionally mentioned and clearly adored. He didn’t know him super well, but he dearly wanted to. He wanted to know everything that made the guy tick, every tiny insignificant detail, and he wanted to pull them out one at a time, over the course of months and in between blowjobs and stupid arguments and lazy picnics, even if he wasn’t gay…

Aw, fuck. He was gay, wasn’t he? With big, gooey, gay feelings for a man who only really liked his dick.

 

***

 

He ended up going to the dinner party.

Not by choice, he would insist later. Never by choice. But Scott had called in a panic because they didn’t have enough white wine and Lydia and Allison are coming and do you know what’ll happen if we only have cheap tequila and mixers, Stiles, do you? Because I don’t think you do, I don’t think you understand how much I need my ex and Isaac’s ex and her scary ass girlfriend to think that we are grown ass adults who don’t drink out of yahtzee shakers--

Stiles had hung up at that point, and texted a brief affirmative so that Scott wouldn’t call back.

So he hit the Trader Joe’s a block from his apartment, and then walked the two miles to Scott’s apartment with four bottles of reisling, and he’d strode inside without knocking to stow them in the freezer so they would cool faster. And then he’d gotten sidetracked by Kira and Malia. And then Jackson and Ethan had joined the conversation. And then Scott had sent him upstairs for the card table they kept folded up in the corner of their office. And by the time he’d gotten back downstairs the appetizers had been served and Derek was sitting at the dining room table and he knew he wasn’t leaving. Not for a million dollars.

He sat down in an open chair instead, and stole the drink out of Derek’s hand.

“Hey, man. What’re you doing at this committed monogamy fest?”

Derek scowled, in a way that crumpled up his whole face like paper, and yanked the drink back out of Stiles hand before taking a long pull of whatever was inside. It was acidic green, so Stiles guessed appletini with vodka.

“If anyone is out of place, it’s you.”

Stiles waved a hand in front of his face. “Yeah, but it’s normal by now. Scott’s been dragging me along to events I don’t belong at for years.”

Derek drank again, his head tipping back to show his throat. His adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed.

“Well, Boyd and Erica like to drag me along too.”

“Awesome,” Stiles grinned, although it was a little forced, “We can be awkward buddies.”

“I’m not your buddy.”

And then he was pushing out of his chair, and stepping around Stiles into the crowd. Stiles wasn’t sure what he’d done wrong, wasn’t even sure what had just happened, but he knew when he’d been dismissed and despite his feelings for Derek--god, he had _feelings_ , how gross--he wasn’t about to follow after him and grovel. So he pushed himself out of his own chair and mingled instead, baiting Jackson into a conversation about taxes that was sure to last an hour.

By the time he’d wound down Scott had pulled a rack of lamb out of the oven, half charred on one side, and called them all to the table. Stiles ended up two seats down and on the opposite side to Derek, and he took the opportunity to study him over the rim of his glass.

He didn’t look terribly happy or sad, truthfully, but that was just Derek. Showing emotion would be a sin he’d consider unthinkable. The best you got was either smug or defensive, and right now...well he was holding his shoulders pretty tense. The various dishes of potatoes and green beans and cornbread pudding--god, had Scott gotten this menu off of the Food Network--passed from person to person, drawing out the start of the meal longer and longer as they all took their share. He noticed that Derek didn’t take anything resembling a carbohydrate for his own plate. He wondered if Derek noticed anything about Stiles’ plate.

“Alright,” Scott said, “Thanks everybody for coming. I hope you like the food we’ve provided, and I hope you like the conversation more.”

He grinned, a wide and unreserved thing, and Stiles offered a pleased smile back along with most of the others.

“Of course we do,” Boyd said, “but it’s got us kind of suspicious. Is there an announcement coming with this party?”

Isaac swooned back in his chair, one wrist pressed against his forehead like he was about to swoon.

“Oh yes,” he said, voice high and breathy, “We are with child!”

He jerked as Scott seemed to kick him under the table, and then dissolved into giggles, the good humor rippling out to the rest of the table.

“Actually, yes, we do have a _real_ announcement.” He kicked Isaac again. “Although I don’t know why you’d believe it now. We’re um…..we’re engaged.”

Stiles fork slipped from his hand to clatter on his plate.

“What?!”

“Oh my god.”

“Scott, oh my god!”

The voices blended together, questions and declarations, and Stiles practically tore himself from his spot and climbed over the other chairs to wrap his not-quite-brother up in a hug.

“Scott this is so amazing,” he said. His voice was pitched low, but with his face buried in Scott’s neck, by his ear, it hardly mattered. “You’re gonna be so happy.”

“Yeah.” There was a smile in Scott’s voice. “Yeah, I am.”

 

***

 

They pulled the wine out of the freezer, after that, and the energy of the party turned almost frenetic. It wasn’t the first wedding in their little group, and not the first big dramatic reveal either, but something about it being Scott changed things for everyone involved. Scott was dependable, and earnest, and he wouldn’t be getting married unless it was the absolute best choice, even with his romantic streak accounted for. If this was real, if this was it for him…

Well, it felt like a rite of passage for them all.

It left Stiles feeling like he was floating. He wasn’t there yet, wasn’t even close. All he had was a fuckbuddy, and no genuine romantic prospects in the six months since he’d met him, but he could have someone. Suddenly, he could see a future where Scott and Isaac adopted eighteen children and Stiles and his hypothetical partner adopted eighteen dogs, and they all got together in the park to play flag football and talk about the local Beacon Hills gossip like all parents did.

“Wait, what if your partner wants kids, though?”

Stiles rolled his head sideways, taking in the broad shoulders and thick hands of the man that had sat down beside him. He’d been talking aloud, apparently, but he hoped at least that no one was listening to him. No one usually did, not with his record of rambling. But this time, it was Derek who chose to tune in, and Derek’s puzzled face staring at him from the deck chair to his right.

“I dunno, man. We’d talk about it or some shit. I never saw myself with kids, but I’m not….not gonna have them, if he wants them.”

The frown on Derek’s brow grew deeper, more intense.

“He?”

“Yeah…” Stiles let his gaze drift back towards the yard, skipping over the others where they were all sprawled out, laughing and lazy. “He. And whoever he is, it’ll be...he’ll be special. Smart. Brave. Plenty good at raising kids or dogs.”

Derek hummed beside him.

“Why didn’t you ever ask me out?”

It takes a second for the question to register in his alcohol addled mind, and then Stiles whips his head over again to stare at Derek, moon-eyed.

“What?”

“It’s just, like...I’ve done the nervous virgin, first fuck thing. A couple of times.”

“Not a virgin,” Stiles protested, but it was weak.

Derek smirked, although it dropped off his face as quickly as it had come. “And usually the person I’m with gets all clingy, decides we were destined to be together. That shit. When you didn’t, I guess I figured that you were a straight guy who was just, like...using the experience to get your rocks off. Thinking of me as a sex toy. Which I’ve dealt with a time or two also. But now you’re talking about marrying some Neil Patrick Harris type and clearing out an animal shelter and maybe considering clearing out an orphanage, and I just want to know what it was about me that convinced you I wasn’t worth asking out?”

Stiles gaped, mouth hanging open and eyes blinking slowly like a cow. His thought process was already slow, from the food and the buzz he had going, and he had a hard time rip starting it to deal with this conversation, but as far as he could tell, that was…..interest? Maybe?

“You...don’t care about me. I don’t date people who don’t care about me.”

“Says who?”

Derek soured like he’d been asked to bite straight into a lime, and Stiles was confused.

“Says you, all the time. Or not says you. Dude, this is the second longest conversation we’ve ever had. You don’t get to come in and tell me you were trying to signal your feelings to me through ass semaphore.”

“Ass...hold on, what?”

“Just--code, man. Secret code. If you wanted my affections, why didn’t you say it instead of leaning on whatever code this is you’ve got going?” Now it was his turn to frown back. “Or were you just hoping for me to ask to boost your ego?”

“I just…” Derek’s face fell a little, and he stared at his lap. “I like the sex, but I want...I don’t want people to just call me to be the sex guy anymore. And you seemed like you liked me, like you remembered details about me and told me details about yourself and I guess...I guess I’m the one that got clingy this time.”

He tipped his glass back, draining the last on the contents before setting it down, empty, with a click into the chair’s cupholder.

“That probably means it’s time for me to fuck off, huh?”

He shifted like he was going to stand, hands going to the armrests to hoist himself up, and Stiles grabbed frantically at his wrist, his pulse in his throat.

“What if I asked you? Now? With all the information in front of me?”

Derek glanced back, first at his face and then down at his hand. Stiles loosened his grip, reluctantly, and pulled back just enough that Derek wouldn’t feel trapped or pinned down.

“You wouldn’t.”

“But what if I did?”

He set his own glass down and then turned in his seat, bracketing Derek with his arms as he leaned forward.

“What if I wanted it, for real? And had for a while?”

“Well, I…” Derek swallowed, heavily, and his gaze flicked down to Stiles’ mouth. “I guess I’d say yes.”

A grin unfurled on Stiles’ face, slow and luminous, and he pushed forward into Derek’s face to kiss him. He felt like he was flying, loose and drunk and a little bit reckless, and he pressed his hands against Derek’s hips like he could leave a claim there.

“Hey! No sex on my patio!” Isaac shouted, and the pair broke apart with a laugh.

“Wanna go have sex in the poolhouse?” Derek asked under his breath.

“Alright,” Stiles said, “But in exchange I want more stories about you growing up.”

Derek smiled and tugged him to his feet so they could stumble across the yard.

**Author's Note:**

> Is this too short? It feels too short. Also I can't write angst, clearly. As soon as it starts to genuinely hurt, I back the fuck off and resolve things.


End file.
